


walk from dawn (til setting sun)

by sunlight-and-storms (all_i_see_is_sky)



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: M/M, WITCHES AU, they all have magic powers except it's not their canon magic powers it's different ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_i_see_is_sky/pseuds/sunlight-and-storms
Summary: In order to create life, you need three things.The first is a body. Something crafted out of air, or water, or pure magic; it doesn’t matter. Make a body, and you’ve begun.The second is a heart. In order to live, things need to feel; to love, and to hurt. The constant thump, thump is a reminder not to forget who you are.And the third is a mind. A mind is what makes it true, able to run and laugh and breathe on its own. A body, a mind, and a heart; that’s what makes something living. You need all three to do anything worthwhile.It’s lucky, then, that Fitz found his other two so soon.(Or: Keefe can make things out of pure air, Fitz just wants someone to stay, and in a world of magic somehow only Biana can see the truth.)
Relationships: Keefe Sencen/Fitz Vacker
Comments: 17
Kudos: 22





	walk from dawn (til setting sun)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my friend Mellie (@lemontarto on tumblr!) since it was her birthday a few days ago. Mellie, darling, if you're reading this, you're amazing and i love you so much. 
> 
> Whether you are Mellie or not, I hope you enjoy!

In order to create life, you need three things. 

The first is a body. Something crafted out of air, or water, or pure magic; it doesn’t matter. Make a body, and you’ve begun.

The second is a heart. In order to live, things need to feel; to love, and to hurt. The constant  _ thump, thump  _ is a reminder not to forget who you are.

And the third is a mind. A mind is what makes it true, able to run and laugh and breathe on its own. A body, a mind, and a heart; that’s what makes something living. You need all three to do anything worthwhile.

It’s lucky, then, that Fitz found his other two so soon. 

They’ve settled into a pattern, this far down the line. Keefe creates something wonderful, Fitz gives it emotion, and Biana makes it real. The three of them are a well-oiled machine. 

_ Brains, heart, and body,  _ Keefe had laughed once, self-deprecating.  _ I make a shape, see? And you two fill it. Figures I’d get the least useful one.  _

Fitz doesn’t agree. It’s never made sense to him; Keefe is as necessary to the magic as he or Biana is. And the things he makes are beyond beautiful.

Like now, for example. Raising up a being made out of dew and mist and light, spinning it into the form of a large bumblebee and sending it over to Fitz. It brings with it a scent of grass and summer heat; this creature is a comfort, and a guide. 

Fitz draws a shape in the air, pushing it toward the bee. Its new heart thrums the same beat as its wings. He shoos it towards Biana.

His sister smiles and reaches out a hand- when her finger makes contact with its head, it’s like a fog has been lifted. The bee is yellow and pink and orange, colors that probably shouldn’t exist in nature but don’t look out of place here in their small backyard. 

“She’ll watch over you until you can start questing again,” Biana says as the bee buzzes over to their most recent customer. The man- Terik, Fitz recalls- smiles, shifting back onto his crutches and turning toward the garden exit. His bad leg swings an inch above the ground. 

“Thank you,” he calls. Fitz raises a hand in farewell.

“I still hate that I couldn’t fix it,” he says once Terik is gone. “The damage was bad, yeah, but I should have been able to use a mending spell.” 

“His muscles were torn apart,” Biana says. “You did everything you could.”

“You always do,” Keefe adds, and Fitz knows they’re all thinking about the scars that litter Biana’s back and arms. His stomach twists. 

_ It’s okay. She’s okay. It was a long time ago. _

“Sorry,” he says. Keefe nudges his shoulder. 

“Nothing to apologize for. Got any more of that vanilla tea?”

“I made some last night,” Biana says, brushing past them into the house. Fitz follows her, pushing himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. A bundle of herbs brushes his head. 

Their home (slash hospital, slash shop, slash not-a-bachelor-pad, Keefe, for goodness sake Biana lives here too) is cluttered full of objects, both supernatural and most definitely not. Magic seeps from every wall, wrapping around every occupant. Fitz has lived here for seven years now, and most days he never wants to leave. 

“When is Sophie picking you up?” he asks as Biana hands Keefe a steaming mug. She shrugs. 

“A couple hours. I still need to pack all my clothes.”

“Oh, right. She’s got that moon witch thing on Friday, right?” Keefe says. 

“Yeah. Once-in-a-lifetime ritual, or something. It’s a great honor.” Biana waves a hand in the air. “I’m not part of the coven, but it’ll be interesting. And the moon is supposed to boost truthsaying anyway.” She squints at them. “You guys will be okay without me for a few days, right?”

“Duh,” Fitz scoffs. “None of the booked clients are too urgent. We can wait a bit to make-” he checks the list on the corkboard across from him- “a dolphin friend for Shayda Adel.”

“Hm.” Biana glances at Keefe and then back at Fitz. There’s a spark of light in her eyes, the same shade of teal as all of Fitz’s magic. He’s not sure what lie she’s trying to discern. 

“We’ll be fine,” he says. “I promise.”

“I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.” Keefe slings an arm over his shoulder. “He won’t work himself to death.” 

Biana laughs, turning back to pour more tea. “All right. Have fun, you two.” 

“We’re going to burn the town down,” Keefe jokes, and then screams as Biana aims a wooden spoon at his head.

* * *

The house is quiet after Biana leaves. Fitz wakes up the next morning with a sense of cold; the heater’s chugging merrily away, but he still has chills. 

Being alone always reminds him of the accident- the days he spent by Biana’s side, draining all his magic in a vain attempt to keep her alive. The voice in his head that just got louder and louder as each hour passed. 

_ You should be able to fix this. You can’t fix this. You are not enough.  _

He exhales slowly and starts the day. 

The first few customers trickle in; a healing salve here, a headache potion there. Fitz eats breakfast in the front room, leaning over the counter to write in the sales ledger and knocking his heels against the legs of his stool. The plants in the window open up their flowers as the late-morning sun peeks over the buildings. 

“Hey,” Keefe says, whirling into the shop in a burst of cool spring air and the always-present aura of magic. He flops down onto the stool next to Fitz.

“Good morning,” Fitz responds. He pushes a plate of eggs over. “What are you doing today?” 

“Not much,” Keefe says around a mouthful of food. “Painting, maybe. Annoying you.”

“Joy of joys,” Fitz deadpans. “Have you considered  _ not  _ doing that? Getting a hobby, maybe?” 

“Annoying you  _ is  _ a hobby.”

“Have you considered getting a different hobby?”

“No.” Keefe waves a hand, forming a tiny dragon out of the wind. It floats over to Fitz, settling in his hair. Fitz gives him an unimpressed look. 

“Why.”

“Her name is Geraldine. Treat her well.” 

Fitz rolls his eyes and tries to get back to work. Their sales this month have mainly been simple things, but someone’s put in an order for three dozen pixiepuff potions and Fitz is going to need a  _ lot  _ of magic to imbue that much liquid. He’ll have to do it in shifts- he makes a note. 

The dragon settles further into Fitz’s hair, blowing out a puff of air that would probably be fire if she were real. He squints at Keefe. 

“Are you controlling her still?”

“Nope,” Keefe says. “I mean, she’s not, like, capable of rational thought, she’s not gonna start reciting poetry, but I’m not puppeteering her.” 

“So why is she still on my head?” 

Keefe shrugs. “She likes it there.” 

Fitz can’t help laughing. Keefe grins, eyes sparkling. Maruca Chebota pushes through the door. 

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she sings. 

“It’s ten am,” Keefe says, chuckling. Maruca points at him.

“Keep that up and I’ll make it afternoon out of goddamn spite. I’ll do it, Sencen.” 

“Please don’t,” Fitz interjects. “I’d rather not have to bring you back from the brink of death because you spent all your magic moving the sun.” 

Maruca sighs dramatically. “Fine. Only for you.” She turns to Keefe. “Be glad your boyfriend’s got common sense.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Keefe says. On top of Fitz’s head, Geraldine sits up abruptly. She emits a small growling noise and Keefe glares at her. “Stop.” He waves a hand, and she dissipates. Fitz blinks. 

“...Anyway,” Maruca says after a moment. “Fitz, do you guys have any burn salve? Wylie was trying out a new rune and he hurt his hand.” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make some right now.” Fitz grabs a tiny bottle of normal healing salve, folding his fingers tightly over it and letting his magic flow through.  _ Fire,  _ he thinks, knowing that’ll translate into burn medicine. His fingers are white-hot for a millisecond before it’s done. He drops it into Maruca’s hand. 

“There you go. On the house,” he adds as she holds out a few coins. “We still owe you for the sunbeam drops a while back.” 

“All right. Well, come around for dinner sometime soon- Uncle Tiergan misses you two.” 

“Will do.” 

Maruca heads out the door, bell chiming behind her, and Fitz nudges Keefe’s ankle with his foot. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Keefe dismisses. “Just tired. Are  _ you  _ okay?”

“I-” Fitz thinks. Despite the quiet house, and the anxiety that always comes from having his sister out of sight, he’s all right.

If he thinks about it, it’s probably because of Keefe- because Keefe makes him calmer, makes him happier, makes him  _ better.  _ If he thinks about it, he’d be worrying his head off if Keefe wasn’t there. 

“I am. Yeah.”

He doesn’t say any of that. 

* * *

“Cover the counter for me? I’m gonna make a sandwich.” 

Keefe nods and Fitz moves into the kitchen, pulling out the ever-present sandwich supplies that lie in their cabinets. He and Biana don’t always have time to make actual food- running a business that often includes emergency visits will do that to you- so they make an effort to keep bread and cheese on hand. Useful for nights like these, when he’s so tired he just wants to close up shop and sleep. 

He’s spent the whole day with Keefe, customers darting in and out. It’s been… peaceful. Nice. Exactly what he’d pictured, when Biana said  _ I want to move. Somewhere where we can just live our lives.  _ and Fitz had agreed. 

He wonders, sometimes, if he regrets it. The answer is always  _ no.  _

Heating up a jug of mulled cider, he brings the food back up into the front. Keefe doesn’t look up from where he’s hunched over his sketchbook. 

Fitz loves watching him draw. His movements are steady, sure- lines inked across the page in one decisive stroke. It’s not magic, but it feels like it sometimes, when colors are bleeding onto the paper and Keefe’s face lights into a tiny smile. 

“Eat,” he says quietly, pushing over a plate. Keefe glances over. 

“I feel bad for stealing all your food,” he jokes. “You know I can eat at home, right?”

“You’ve spent the whole day keeping me company. The least I can do is provide sandwiches.” Fitz peeks over his shoulder. “What are you drawing?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to get better at landscapes, but who knows if it came out right.”

“I think it looks good.” Fitz inspects the drawing; it’s a field of flowers, wide-open sky above. Just simple lineart, but he can almost feel the wind on his face. “Hey, is that me?” 

There’s a figure near the back of the field, face tilted towards the sky. Fitz isn’t sure, but he thinks he recognizes his own nose. 

“Huh. Oh, yeah, it is.” Keefe takes the sketchbook back, flipping it closed and giving Fitz a teasing smile. “Just can’t get you out of my mind, I guess.”

“Shut up.” 

Keefe laughs and picks up the jug of apple cider, promptly dropping it onto the floor. It doesn’t break, thankfully, but cider goes everywhere. He curses. 

“Ow. Sorry, I didn’t know the handle was that hot.” 

“It’s fine,” Fitz says, grabbing a cloth from under the counter. The cider mops up easily, leaving only the scent of apples and cinnamon in its wake. When he looks back over, Keefe is still cradling his hand. “Are you all right?” 

“Yeah,” Keefe says, but it’s not convincing. Gently, Fitz takes his hand and unwraps the fingers from his palm. There’s an ugly red burn in the middle. 

“Okay, that doesn’t look  _ too  _ bad. Can I-” Keefe nods, and Fitz summons magic. It doesn’t take long for the burn to heal, burn mark giving way to clean skin. When it’s gone, Fitz breathes out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. 

“Thanks,” Keefe says. Fitz glances up at him, suddenly aware of how close they’re standing, and takes a step back. 

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve got you.” 

_ For as long as you stay. _

* * *

They’re sitting in the garden when it happens. 

Fitz is checking on his herbs while Keefe drinks lemonade and yells nonsensical encouragement from where he sits under a tree. The sun shines through the leaves, dappling his face in shadow and gold. Fitz pretends he isn’t staring, moves to another basil plant, and hears the footsteps seconds before Linh Song bursts through the gate. 

She’s carrying something in her arms; it takes Fitz a moment to realize it’s her girlfriend, and another moment to realize both of them are soaking wet. Linh sets Marella on the ground as gently as she can and looks up at them with wild eyes. 

“Help,” she says. Keefe’s on his feet instantly. 

“What happened?” Fitz asks, rushing over to check Marella’s pulse. It’s still there, thank goodness, but it’s faint. Linh shakes her head. 

“We were swimming in the river,” she manages. “Or- I was, anyway, to boost my magic. And then my bag fell in and Mare tried to get it but she can’t swim and-” she gestures helplessly. “She almost drowned. Her soul flame…”

“It’s dying,” Keefe says quietly. “ _ She’s  _ dying.” 

Fitz feels like the earth beneath his feet is crumbling, dirt and rocks and grass all slipping away. He reaches out, summoning magic to wrap around the flame in Marella’s chest, trying to help it grow. But even as he does, he knows Keefe is right. 

That’s the one rule for firecarriers, after all; once their flame is out, they’re gone. 

“Please,” Linh says. “Can you save her?”

“Her flame’s been doused,” Fitz shakes his head. “I can’t...”

“You’re the  _ life mages, _ ” Linh snaps. “You can make life out of nothing, so give her life back!” 

“There is one thing,” Keefe says slowly. He turns to Fitz. “The flame is dying because it’s inside her. If we took it out, put it in an animal of some sort…”

“She could live and just have to keep the animal safe,” Fitz realizes. “That could work. But- Biana’s not here. None of this will stick if we can’t make it real.”

They’re all quiet for a moment. Marella turns a little on her side, making a pained noise. Linh falls to her knees, holding her girlfriend’s hand tight. Through his magic, Fitz can feel the fire getting smaller. 

“Let’s do it anyway,” Keefe says. Fitz stares at him, but he’s looking at Linh and Marella. “It might still help.” 

Fitz hesitates. The flame flickers again. 

“Fine,” he says. The ground feels a little further away.

Keefe reaches out a hand, pulling sunbeams toward him and molding them into the shape of a tiny hummingbird. Once he’s done, Fitz closes his eyes, lifting the soul flame out of Marella’s chest. Gently, carefully, he pushes it towards the bird. 

In a burst of red-orange light, the bird lights on fire- or, it’s not  _ on  _ fire as much as it  _ is  _ fire. The flames lick at the air and the bird’s eyes are bright white flames, but it has a heartbeat. It has Marella’s soul. 

“Now what?” Linh says. Keefe smiles, the bird still cupped in his hands. 

“Now you trust me.” 

He breathes out slowly, pulling more light from around them. Fitz can feel him pulling magic too, from the air and the trees. 

Most of all, he’s pulling magic from himself. 

“Keefe,” Fitz says, trying to keep his voice level. “What are you doing?”

Keefe doesn’t respond. The magic sheen starts to lift off of the soul-bird, in bits and pieces. It’s not smooth, like it is when Biana uses truth magic; it’s slow and painful. Keefe’s magic is meant for creation, for ideas- not for this. 

“Keefe,” Fitz says again. Keefe smiles. 

“She was going to die,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

The soul-bird is almost real now, formed of fire and magic. Fitz can feel its heat on his face. As he watches, the last bit of shimmering mist lifts off its wings, and Marella sits up. 

“Mare!” Linh hugs her tight. The soul-bird flutters over and lands on her shoulder, and Marella glances over at it. 

“What-” she starts, but then Keefe stumbles and drops to the ground.

Fitz can feel it before he even touches him. Keefe’s magic normally hangs just below his skin, waiting to be let out, but now he just feels… empty. 

“Keefe?” Fitz whispers. Keefe doesn’t respond. 

The earth underneath Fitz crumbles away, and he falls.

* * *

The next few days feel like a dream. 

Biana comes home on Monday, with a head full of new ideas about moon magic and a wide smile that falls as soon as she sees Keefe lying in the emergency cot. She rushes to his side immediately, peppering Fitz with questions. He doesn’t remember what he tells her.

He’s on autopilot, almost; eat, sleep, pour as much healing magic as he can into Keefe before he depletes himself, repeat. Biana takes care of the customers, so Fitz barely has to move from Keefe’s room from sunup to sundown. 

It’s past sundown when Biana comes into the room, holding two mugs of tea. She passes one to Fitz and sits down next to him. Fitz looks back down at Keefe, making sure he’s still breathing. Even now, when Keefe’s no longer on the brink of losing his magic forever, Fitz’s gut is tied in five different complicated knots.

“You’re blaming yourself,” Biana says. Fitz doesn’t respond. “I know you. You think this is all your fault.” 

“Isn’t it?” Fitz shakes his head. “I should have-”

“Should have  _ what? _ ” Biana challenges. She waves her hand in the air. “Fitz, if you had had a way to help Marella without destroying yourself, you would have taken it. The only reason Keefe did this is because he had no other option.” 

“But-”

“No. If anyone should be blaming themselves, it’s me. If I was at home when it happened, I would have been able to finish the bird and Keefe wouldn’t be so hurt. But I’m not sitting here feeling guilty about it, am I? Because there’s  _ no way  _ I could have known what was going to happen.” 

She sighs, setting her tea to the side and reaching for Fitz’s hand. “You’re blaming yourself,” she repeats. “Because you always do, even when you’ve done more than a normal person should be able to. Because you  _ feel- _ ” she taps his sweater, right above his heart- “so much. And you’re afraid of losing the people you love.” 

Fitz scoffs. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not. Body, mind, heart- There’s a reason you’re the  _ heart _ of the three of us, Fitz. You love, and you do it so deeply the people you love become a part of you. And that’s not bad, but it makes you hurt so much when  _ they _ get hurt.” 

Biana smiles, a tiny, secret thing. “You love him,” she says. “And so you’re going to try and protect him, but guess what? He’s going to keep throwing himself in front of danger, because that’s how he loves  _ you. _ ” 

“I-” Fitz looks over at Keefe and sighs. “You’re right.”

“Duh,” Biana says. “Magic, remember?”

“Okay, no need to rub it in.” 

Biana laughs and stands back up, grabbing her tea. It’s probably cold by now, but she takes a sip anyway. 

“Just… think about what I said. He’ll be back to normal soon, and when he does, I think you two should talk.” 

“Fine,” Fitz says, and then, “thanks.”

“Anytime,” Biana says, and Fitz hears the unspoken  _ I’m here for you. Forever.  _

Keefe wakes up the next day.

* * *

Really, it’s easier than Fitz expected to get back to normal. Keefe wakes up, eats the equivalent of four meals in one, hugs him and Biana, and is out the door to his own house in no time. He still comes around to visit every day, still cracks jokes and banters with Fitz. His magic levels are still at their usual height. Fitz can almost shake the falling feeling he’s had for the past week. 

But it all comes back when Biana fixes him with a look that says  _ I can see the truth and you, good sir, are a liar  _ and really, it’s never gone, not when Keefe is laughing and bright and alive in front of him. 

They really need to talk. 

So when Keefe’s about to leave one afternoon, nearly two weeks after Marella’s accident, Fitz grabs his arm and says “Hey. Meet me outside at ten tonight? I want to talk.”

Keefe nods, brow furrowed a bit, and then, like no time has passed at all, the moon goes down and he’s waiting for Fitz at the front door.

“What’s up?” He asks as Fitz steps out, slipping on a thin jacket. It’s not that cold, not tonight, but it’s that kind of spring-almost-summer weather that can suddenly decide to turn back to winter for one last time. 

“Walk with me?” Fitz says. They fall into step together, heading towards the forest at the edge of town. This far out, there are barely any buildings to be seen. Fitz stops just as they pass the first few trees. 

“So,” Keefe says after a moment of silence, drawing out the ‘o’. “Is something… wrong?”

Fitz lets out a nearly-hysterical laugh. “You almost  _ died. _ ”

Keefe sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I was kinda hoping we could forget about that. Move on.” 

“You almost died,” Fitz repeats. Keefe opens his mouth, but he barrels on. “No. Just- listen to me for a second, okay? You almost died, and I’ve been blaming myself for it. I know it’s not logical, I  _ know _ \- but that’s how I work. I’m going to blame myself for stuff that happens to the people I love. And I hope you understand that.” 

Keefe blinks. “The people you-” 

“I know you’re not going to be able to stop putting yourself in danger. I understand that. But please, can you  _ try? _ For me?”

“Wait, hold up. The people that you-”

“I love you,” Fitz says. “And I can’t lose you, okay. Please.” 

They’re both quiet for a second. Somewhere off in the forest, a frog croaks. Keefe’s eyes are wide and shellshocked.

“I- You-”

Fitz waits.

“I love you too,” Keefe says at last, with a tiny laugh. “And… I’m sorry. I didn’t see another way.” 

“You did what you thought you had to. And I might not have done the same thing if I was in your shoes, but I understand it. Just… can you talk to me next time? So we’re on the same page? Maybe so we can figure something out together?”

“Yeah,” Keefe says, breathless and happy. “Yeah, I can do that.” 

They stand there. Crickets sing in the dark. Fitz holds out a hand. 

“Come on, I want to show you something.” 

The forest flies past as Fitz’s feet trace a path he somehow knows by heart, down and away from the village and deep into the trees. They pause, eventually, just outside a tiny clearing. Trees line the edges, but there’s just one in the middle; an old, twisted oak, branches reaching around itself towards the sky. It’s dark, serene in a way only forests with memories can be.

“Darn it,” Fitz says, stepping forward. “It’s not summer yet. Usually there are fireflies here.”

Keefe laughs and snaps his fingers. Dancing lights appear all over the clearing, warm and glowing. Fitz reaches out and catches one; sure enough, it’s just magic and light. An idea, given form. 

“You shouldn’t waste magic like that,” he says, but the lights are gathering around him and he’s sure his smile is splitting his face open. Keefe grins.

“You don’t like them?”

“No, no, I do, but...”

“If you like them-” Keefe reaches out and a light lands on the back of his hand- “then it’s not a waste.” 

Fitz kisses him. 

It’s not perfect, by any means. It’s not magic, or sunshine, or creation. It’s just this: they are standing in a dark forest clearing, surrounded by tiny bits of light, and Keefe tastes a little bit like vanilla and a lot like Keefe. It’s just this: they are together, and that’s enough. 

When they pull back, lights have landed on Keefe’s hair and shoulders. He’s glowing and the smile he gives Fitz could probably light a hundred more fireflies. 

“Stay?” Fitz asks, because he has to know. Keefe takes his hand and twines their fingers together. 

“Always,” he says, and Fitz believes him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @cadence-talle on tumblr, come talk to me about the magic systems in the fic I loved creating them so much 💛
> 
> Comments/kudos are love!!


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